Forgemaster
by InkBlotches37
Summary: Frustration and hopelessness can drive even the sanest beings to extreme solutions. For the old dwarf that had long assumed that there was nothing about his craft that he did not know, the metal provided by the Sorcerer King shattered apart of him. Now to complete this impossible task issued by an equally impossible dead, the forge master goes forward. Spoilers for LN 11
1. Into the Abyss

Summary: While Ainz, and his followers were forever changing the balance of power in the Azerlisia Mountains, what became of the dwarven Forgemaster that fled? Drove by his madness into the mountains, his purpose would lead him towards an icey ruin in an attempt to complete an impossible task. Spoilers for LN 11

Underground passages were not an inviting prospect in the best of times. Cave ins, lack of breathable air, and wrong turns had killed countless dwarves since they had first inhabited the Azerlisia Mountains. Not including what it did to the other life forms that called this place home. Violence between these opposed groups merely added to the pile that the mountains themselves had caused. Perhaps it was from these deaths since time immemorial that there existed a distinct life to these tunnels that set it apart from its dwellers.

Sounds could carry far away and long after their causes. Echoes with the wind made the great veins of the mountain breath ominously. Deep chasms were greedy onlookers to those who passed their edges, a silent vow to never release that which disappeared into its darkness. Misfortune was the whispered promised fate of those who did not proceed with respect and caution.

Therefore, the panting and footsteps of the dwarf called more attention to himself then his experience would have ever permitted. Still the old dwarf lumbered forward. The noise of his motions had a physical to them, as if they too now rested in his pack. His body had long since sagged with the weight since his departure from Feo Jara.

Feo Jara, that name brought a shudder of longing. With his warm bed with soft sheets of a lilac color might as well be half the world away. Safety in the form of walls and arms of his countrymen would now be closed to him. For he had failed that city, and his kingdom in a way that would not be forgotten.

Forgemaster. A weighty title that made him the equal of any dwarf.

 _What a foolish thing to call a failure of a smith,_ Geredo Innsbreaht thought.

Every step was now a test of his concentration and will. Trembling had spread through his body and being alone in the tunnels was not a time for such weakness of the flesh. His decision to continue or rest was soon made for him. Letting his mind wander back to those thoughts of his home filled the dwarf with regret. And regrets tend to breed more problems to an occupied mind.

Geredo's right foot caught on a small divot in the ground, his squat body almost tipped over, but he managed to find his footing again as he gripped the cave wall for support. Flexing his ankle brought another wave of pain. Though it was intense than he feared.

 _Seems I'm a lucky dwarf after all, didn't even sprain it. Guess I won't just have to lie in wait to surprise a monster with a tasty meal._

His decision made for him, Geredo hunched over. Continuing would only further damage the chances off his journeys succeeding. Any injury that prevented him from walking would eat up his rather meager medical supplies. Those four blue vials would have to last him for the full length of this journey. And, at any rate, Geredo thought that he should have put at least some distance between himself and his potential pursuers.

At least that was how he comforted himself as he shrugged the pack off his back. Rolling his shoulders, Geredo pressed his back against the cool, damp stone. Relief spread through his hot and achy body as he let his legs collapse from underneath him. Basking in the sensation, he closed his eyes to picture the room where he would bathe the day's work off his body.

A few deep breaths later, and his legs now more comfortably stretched out in front of him, the dwarf finally reopened his eyes. They too were sore, and that prompted the dwarf into further action. He pulled his pack so that it now rested against his left knee. Loosening the clasp binding the top together his hand fished around till it grasped a small black bag that faintly glowed. The muffled light expanded once it was free from the bag

A small heatstone roughly the size of child's fist now illuminated the area around him in a soft light. The light helped to relieve the strain on his eyes. While dwarves could see in the dark, their vision was limited to just a few feet in front of them. Age to added to his problems as older dwarves like him also had difficulty even managing that. Let alone for the hours Geredo had already traveled. Light was required to truly relax, and the heatstone brought a certain comfort to the dwarf. Perhaps it was the familiarity of the item, as his life had been spent with such rocks. Or maybe that he had journeyed far enough away from the city to dare risk using such an item.

 _My body isn't built for this,_ he grumbled as he tried to massage his sore feet through his boots. The thick calluses in his hands had been worn in by the years spent working a forge tried to rub out the soreness in his feet.

Escaping the city hadn't been difficult. While Geredo the Forgemaster was one of the most recognizable figures in the city, it hadn't worked against him. Guards didn't exactly make it a habit to question the ways of their superiors. When said superior was rather surly on the best days, and as likely to use his hammer on you as the metal works he was famous for. It paid to give him space when gossip from the apprentices at the forge began to talk about Geredo's obsessive moods.

Geredo's hands ceased rubbing his feet. Though faithful workers, they could only do so much through the thick leather that made up his boots. These boots were well made but had been chosen for their durability rather than comfort. It would be a long journey, and he couldn't afford to overbear himself with too many spare items. His age prohibited such an action. Neither could Geredo afford to have something fail him out here. By this time already he might be considered a fugitive by his people. The supplies he carried on him would have to suffice. Thus, his feet would suffer until they got used to their new life, but the leather would at least hold in the coming weeks.

Magic had made his journey possible, just as its strongest caster had begun this quest of his. Geredo would never have been able to carry enough supplies on his own strength to last a week. Access to the highest quality items available to his people meant that his gear would be worth many times its weight in gold coins to any adventurer. Particularly those items which would help to contain and occasionally replenish some of his supplies. Each item would be necessary to make this journey, and even then, he would need considerable luck. Such as avoiding breaking his ankle before even a day had passed.

Feo Teiwaz was the farthest away of the three dwarven cities from the current capital. But it contained his only hope of potentially finishing the task which had driven Geredo this far. The task that that damned undead had given to him. That had driven him apart from his people in a way that Geredo would have never thought possible. Which had shown how pathetic a smith he was.

With a grunt he ceased trying to comfort his poor feet. _For thirty years I considered myself the greatest smith in the world. Thinking I had fulfilled my promise to that old man. Instead, I had just climbed a small hill before a great mountain which I had not yet seen._

With his now free left hand, he twisted rings into his beard hair. The habit was a common one amongst his people. Beards where a symbol of everything a dwarf was to their fellow dwarves. Grooming their beards, a daily affair. And most found some level of soothing from it. In fact, for most dwarves you could predict their mood by the state of their beard. Geredo's had been as impeccable as his standing, white hairs arranged in a dignified manner. None of that pride did him a damn thing though, least of all to the dwarves which would have admired such grace. Now they hunted him.

Geredo did not have a massive head start on the city guard. By the time he had made his decision to leave Feo Jara, it was later in the day then he would have liked. However, he was compelled to leave quickly to avoid the meeting next morning. Geredo doubted his ability to keep together outward appearances that long. Departure had to have been tonight. His internal debate had still waged for well over an hour as he knew how small his chances were to even reach his destination, let alone be successful in his task.

Gathering the supplies, he needed had delayed him further. Luckily for Geredo, he did not require a lengthy lead on his pursuers. He wagered that by the time the council would meet in a few hours, that they would be unable to spare many men for such a dangerous mission. Despite the undead's words, they had to take the fact that the Quagoa had made it so close to storming Feo Jara. There race's existence in these mountains could very well have all ended within a week but for that undead's arrival.

In spite of this very present danger, Geredo did not think that his fellow dwarves where in much peril anymore. At least not from the Quagoa. Rather if he was of a better disposition and more sympathetic he might pity the Quagoa as they couldn't understand the danger they were now in. For the monster already was walking to be in their midst. And no being could comprehend what power that being commanded without experiencing it. Not that that meant that the dwarven people were in a much better position themselves. The undead hated all living creatures just as the living did in kind, and he doubted that the servants of such a being would care greatly at the race of their prey. Slaughter of the kind he expected was something that most living beings could not handle viewing, let alone inflicting.

 _I just hope it is not the people of Feo Jara that will pay that terrible price. Hopefully word of my...instability and sudden disappearance will not influence that decision._ Guilt seized at his heart as the thought threatened to drive him to tears.

As for the reason of this certainty of a slaughter soon to occur, the dwarf only had to remember the weapon that was supposed to serve as his model of the armor he was supposed to make. Though Geredo had been proven completely inept at forging from such a metal, he knew enough about weapons and materials that if the undead could spare the sword made from a metal that even he couldn't dent; that the undead would have more than enough firepower to stop even a dragon. To say nothing of the aura which had undoubtedly represented his barely restrained malice.

The dwarf couldn't suppress a shiver at the thought that such a being existed, let alone that he was planning on being a regular apart of the affairs of the Dwarven Kingdom. Perhaps his people would have been better off dying to the Quagoa than living with such a powerful entity. Generosity wasn't exactly a permanent defense from future atrocities in Geredo's now humbled view nor could he find a value in his people when their greatest talents, smiting and runecraft, were already far surpassed by the Sorcerer King. The two races that had competed for these tunnels would be forever different though.

Geredo's path would hopefully avoid both his kinsman and the Quagoa. In fact, Geredo was willing to wager that neither the dwarves nor the Quagoa would be willing to go to his intended destination.

Feo Teiwaz, the ice city of the dwarves. During the golden years of the Dwarven kingdom it had served as the beating, fiery heart of smiting. Even beyond that the post of his former position of Forgemaster had worked there with the most skilled of his people. Destroyed by two warring dragons when even he was young, most would never consider disturbing the ruins as they were. But desperation had lead him down this path.

 _I've wasted enough time here,_ Geredo thought. Grunting he forced himself back onto his feet and grabbing the heatstone. Pausing before he placed it back in his pack, Geredo shrugs before slipping it onto a clasp on his belt instead.

 _If they are this close to me now to see this light, I doubt I'll be able to keep ahead of them for long. No reason to prolong the inevitable in that case. I'll accept any punishment they can give this old fool._

Another two hours would pass before the dwarf that had served as the Forgemaster on the Regency Council of the Dwarven Kingdom would finally allow himself to rest. For the first time in years he dreamed about a dwarf with an even whiter beard then his, who wore the same necklace that he now possessed.

It was a simple dream. Just of the figure before him raising his hammer and bringing it down on the piece of metal that was securely in his pack. The strong back of the older dwarf faced him as Geredo lazily watched the right arm of the figure rise and fall from his perch on a bench close to him.

...

The second day of his journey began with some expected consequences as the old dwarf's body had not taken to sleeping on the ground well. His back was stiff, his feet sore, and a chill had settled deep in to his bones. Grunting he stretched, joints popping, before he settled on one of the bands keeping his beard together.

Having not been caught by pursuers in the night or devoured by a wandering monster, the dwarf felt more at ease. Maybe he would make it to Feo Teiwaz. Gripping the charm on the simple bronze necklace he wore, he felt the first stirrings of hope he had felt in days.

This sentiment would be beaten out of him by the day of marching further through the tunnels. Even with the light of the heatstone assisting him, Geredo had fallen several times. All his aches weighed heavier on his bones. His food was plain to his tongue. Geredo was used to a higher quality of such things. The dwarf's personal chef would attest to that.

Decades spent at the height of dwarven society had softened various parts of his being. Only his hands and mind had remained finely tuned over the years. A single bar of metal had shattered both in a few nights. Weakness remained in their place.

And yet Geredo could not bring himself fully over to despair. Such was the practice of those that still had something to strive for. While he lay, clutching at the necklace in his bedroll, he allowed himself to entertain thoughts of success. Hope was fickle and could cultivate the littlest things into bright embers. Though uncomfortable, even the rock underneath him brought an odd comfort.

Dwarves had a certain kinsman ship with the ground. Something ancestral that had worn itself deep into the bones of the beings which had inhabited it for so long. Engrained in the subconscious of his people. There oldest tales revolve around how the earth in these mountains had accepted them, how the vast caverns, which had been their sanctuaries from the dragons and giants that stalked the peaks and valleys of the surface, had formed to meet their need. It was no surprise that wherever a dwarf species appeared, it was in caves protected by the earth. Nor that these caves where the dwarves had grown to be the most powerful carried with it such a strong feeling.

Thousands of worn markings from those who traveled through these tunnels adorned the walls. Artifacts from every major dwarven age rested off the more beaten paths. Some even said that you could still find engravings created by the first Dwarf Kings that had persisted over millennium. These walls had been shaped by his ancestors, just as they in turn were shaped by them.

Rocks alone, however, were hardly enough to protect a species forever. The history of these mountains gave testament to that. And of the Dwarven Kingdom cities in these mountains, it was his destination, Feo Teiwaz, that had seen the most ruin alongside his people in these caves.

Records leftover from the Golden Age of the Dwarven Kingdom referred to a population of over a half million strong at its height. Only a fifth of that remained. It was thanks to this apex though that 100,000 could comfortably live in one city. Grief threatened to overcome the old dwarf as he felt with every passing decade of his life the continuous shrinking of his people. More and more tunnels no longer manned, and buildings left to crumble from neglect.

Even their greatest hero, the Runesmith King who had been able to do little but to repulse dangers at the cost of tremendous loses. His departure and the subsequent extinction of his line had left them increasingly losing ground. Royalty was not a mere title as it was to the humans. It meant a certain excellence of the spirit and gifts that persisted through generations. To have this bright, powerful force extinguished in a generation had shaken dwarves in a way that Geredo was not sure they could recover in his life.

But Geredo still had hope. That was enough for him. Perhaps from the stone surrounding him or the little necklace. Sleep came easy to him that night and before he finished closing his eyes he could hear the hammer's din as that old smith worked his craft. The figure appeared before him again, diligently working his craft. A necklace swaying with the motion of his body.

...

Time was a weird and strange thing when traveling the dark tunnels of the mountains that made up the roads of the dwarves. With only himself and the items that he brought along to illuminate his path Geredo had been mostly lucky so far. Though the journey wasn't a familiar one, and he had gotten turned around and lost on the way once. Geredo had avoided the worst of it.

No powerful monsters had overtaken him as his protective items or luck held strong. Food, while having been diminished noticeably since the start, was preserved by a magic enchantment placed on his pack. Dysentery or food poisoning would not be a problem yet. Judging by the amount remaining he believed that he would not starve before reaching Feo Teiwaz. Another small victory.

This fortune of the body did not grant itself so easily onto his mind.

Being alone in such a place did things to one's perceptions of the world around him. Geredo's senses were strained trying to avoid monsters that plagued this road. Every noise marked the potential for great danger. Shadows danced ominously at the edge of his vision. The traps that had been made by his people in response to these beings, while immensely pragmatic, did not distinguish between friend or foe either.

 _Maybe dwarven justice would be carried out on me after all._ Dark humor came easier to him and was funnier than it had been in yea4rs to him. This was all well and good as it made his usual sardonic wit easier to bear. Only one subject felt deserving of it now to the dwarf.

It was in this state, that his own mind began to toe the border of sanity for Geredo. While the old dwarf remained mostly lucid, cracks had worn themselves deep into his conscious.

The air had taken on strange qualities to the dwarf. It was more a companion to the dwarf now when it was not so stagnant that it was trying to be one with the stone around him. Voices spoke to him.

Something that should have been very frightening to the dwarf had instead become a joy as he heard very familiar speaking to him again. Various ministers, apprentices, and other folk that had comprised his day to day life for years could be breathed into life in a light breeze. Geredo had been halfway through explaining the complexities of molding an orichalcum stirrup before catching himself.

Luckily, he had managed to activate [Gauntlets of the Forgotten Traveler] before Geredo would have been caught by a group of slimes which had begun to glide across the roof of the tunnel toward the noise.

Geredo feared it, but he couldn't help himself from yearning for these voices. Death had taken the most precious away from him, and it felt deserved that as he slowly wandered to his own that they should be returned to him.

His mother, long dead and remembered, would chastise him in the soft murmurs. Soft lullabies that had long faded into the most basic sense of sweet tones. His father's voice would rumble lowly about the stories of the smiths who had served the Dwarven Kings. A deep baritone laugh conveyed the joy of a proud parent.

Despite these dearly cherished voices and memories, Geredo longed for one voice above all others. Patience was the key in Geredo's mind to receive this blessing. Yet the days past with this wish unanswered. Only the steady din in his dreams would rise to meet his ears of his yearning for his mentor.

Other voices joined these familiar ones as the days passed. Ancient rumblings of forgotten wisdom that had long since joined their knowers in the ground. Secrets of treasures that had been carried off with them. They whispered in their tongue to him, sometimes chanting with the echo of the cave. The contents of these messages was lost on him, though it felt as if Geredo could understand what they said all the mysteries of this world might be revealed.

Such was the way that Geredo would carry on for a week of travel. Days of walking, and nights of sparks. It was on the ninth day of his journey that he would first feel the chill that marked his closing in on the ruins of Feo Teiwaz. He didn't dream of the dwarf that night.

...

Darkness unlike that which had surrounded him in the cave that day enveloped him. The air around him quaked with the power of the malicious intent that it held. Or was that merely the dwarf's body responding to such a feeling. Such thoughts became impossible to Geredo as the dark made way for two small points of light.

Burning red points of light regarded the dwarf. Lazily regarding the features of the trembling creature. Even though his only meeting with the undead that bore those terrible eyes were short, Geredo would never be able to forget who they belonged to. Now that powerful gaze caused Geredo's body to seize, hoping to prove itself unworthy of even the slightest of attention.

There wasn't time for him to think on what purpose behind them there was before he was blinded as a series of dazzlingly bright and complex blue circles appeared around the now revealed body of the lich which was seated on a throne of ice and bones.

While he had seen magic circles before when the magicians of the Dwarven Kingdom felt a need arise that required their combined abilities. Even the most powerful of these felt like a poor imitation of what magic was capable of.

 _It would be like comparing a breeze to that of a violent gale._ Geredo thought. _Its causing vibrations from just the amount of power its releasing._

Having managed to finally peel his eyes of the throne, more horrors awaited him. What very well could have been every dwarf that ever existed seemed to stretch before his eyes as the circle kept expanding.

They were dwarves. And every one of them was dead. Frozen or burned, crushed or ill. Once revealed they would straighten themselves, before bowing towards the Sorcerer King. Next, they would go down to their knees and bow so that their heads would touch the ground.

Viewing this process row after row as the circle kept expanding, Geredo felt no choice but to join in the ritual. Burying his head against the floor, he prayed to be forgotten. That his body might cease to exist. Something in him knew that his end wouldn't be so merciful after delivering such a slight on the lord of death before him.

Only one being in this world breathed. Geredo's breath betrayed him as it echoed off the tightly packed bodies around him. Panicked breaths loudly ringed in his ears as he forced his body against the ground harder. Desperation had ceased him as he frantically tried to dig his way into the ground so that he may escape this immense pressure of power.

The ground betrayed him however. It spilt and ripped under his hands. Fissures forming as he forced up with the rock and dirt. A familiar glint of the black metal began to emerge as the ground began to rain on the dead below. Cracking marked its impact with those who had been around him as a rain formed of the debris as it could return since its presence was not desired by the skeleton on the throne.

Eventually all that remained under him was a stable slab of that unyielding metal. Long enough that three of him could comfortably lay across from head to toe. The length was suitable for one of his own proportions to reach around to grasp.

Which is what he did as it began to drift towards the center. Reverentially depositing itself on the ground before the skeletal throne.

"Umu, master dwarf, are you not impressed then with my little show?" Geredo's eyes couldn't move, they were locked in place as the red light held him still. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that metal had shrunk itself so as it might perfectly fit in the Sorcerer King's hand

"Perhaps you would like to see what I can wrought for your people. What gifts that I can provide in such a short time to such willing, living beings."

The Sorcerer King was laughing as he picked up the metal that had tormented Geredo. Casually changing its shape to match what he had once considered to be his greatest works. Before long, it was rifling through pieces of what could only be described as artistic masterpieces that outclassed anything he had ever seen. Settling on a shield that seemed indomitable. A snap of the fingers rendered it into dust

"The legacy of your people, master dwarf." Gesturing toward him with his right hand in a regal manner the dust shot downwards, burrowing into the ground surrounding the throne. "Enjoy."

One last horrible sight greeted him as he gagged on some of the billowing dust. A decayed dragon corpse emerged head when the dust cleared. Its body began to uncoil from the earth as great wings breached through to the surface. Beating they forced the body of the beast in the air. Wide tears in its wings forming as it forced its body out of the ground. It destroyed the rows of kneeling dwarves with each violent thrash of its wings.

Dead eyes stared into his own as the beast lunged forward. Finally, free of its tomb, it paused briefly to bow before the overlord on his throne. Screeching terribly that it shattered the glass on the remains of the dwarves it snapped its head to face Geredo. The last thing he saw was its maw stretching open so that it could fit a mountain goat in one bite. Jagged teeth blended with icicles.

Gasping for air the dwarf awoke. Curling into himself and whimpering as he clawed at the necklace.

The night had stiffened his back. Joints had locked in place from the

His body had grown weak to match the state his mind had felt ever since understanding had finally dawned on him how difficult his task was. Geredo had persisted this far down this path however. He just prayed that he interpreted his master's words about Feo Teiwaz and were this tunnel would open to. Either way his trek was coming to an end. The dwarf couldn't decide his feelings on this matter as he slowly managed to relax himself.

Soon, he promised himself, soon.

...

Despite being so close to his destination the dwarf would not make any progress the next day. Instead of proceeding forward, Geredo had pulled back so as to be away from that cool breeze.

Before the Sorcerer King, Geredo hadn't been one to put much stock into omens or dreams, such matters were considered trivial to him. A mere coincidence at best. Be that as it may Geredo couldn't shake the feeling that dream had inspired in him. And the dwarf couldn't shake the feeling that those red lights were watching him even now. Watching as their newest victim stumbled in the dark.

The dream had heightened this sense which had been building over the days of this trip. A day of rest seemed in order.

It did not take long before Geredo had managed to find a small cave that would suit his purpose. Located away from the main tunnel that lead to Feo Teiwaz, and with only one entrance with sturdy seeming walls it felt more comforting to him than most of the places he had rested recently.

Arriving a little over two hours after having set out provided Geredo with plenty of time to set up his makeshift camp. Which was really just a bedroll, and two large sheets of cloth that folded into a magical container. One he used to cover the entrance.

If I am found by another dwarf they'll probably mistake me for a crazed hermit. Geredo idly thought as felt his hair. If he could view himself in a mirror the dwarf imagined that this would be the sorriest looking part of his appearance. The grease in his hair dampened his fingers. Viewing such a thing while out on the streets of Feo Jara would cause him to sneer in disgust. Now he only wondered if the smell might attract attention.

Most articles of clothing that he had acquired some kind of hole or mar that Geredo had to diligently repair when he set camp for the night. His boots, however, had remained hole. The leather had held, and his feet had not suffered in vain.

 _Today is a day to indulge._ Geredo decided. _There is no way to know what exactly will await me in Feo Teiwaz, and I need to be as ready as I can be._

Satisfied with his justification he pulled off his clothes before withdrawing [Grace of a Water Sprite] from his pack. The item was imbued with a 1rst tier magic spell that generated a gallon of clean water a day. Geredo would use it to bathe today instead. He still had some beer left over from when he began his journey that had been saved for just such an occasion.

Tearing of part of the cloth that he hadn't used yet, Geredo wetted it before scrubbing his face. The cloth wasn't clean to begin with and it only took a few minutes for it to become filthy. The dwarf diligently worked however. Tearing of pieces of the cloth as their predecessors became as filthy as the dwarf, he scoured his body. It took most of the water for him to eventually reach all the way to his feet. Using the last of his water he poured it over his head.

Clean was a stretch to describe what he had managed but Geredo could not complain. In fact, he couldn't stop from himself from sighing in relief. Stretching what was left of the second cloth over the driest part of the cave he unrolled his bedroll and laid upon it.

Alone amongst his possessions which remained on him was his former mentor's amulet. Halvar of Feo Teiwaz had been an old dwarf when the then young apprentice Geredo had approached him. By that point Geredo was known as a student of promise that was diligently completing his apprenticeship. Nearing retirement Halvar was reluctant to take on another.

Halvar did not need to worry about his legacy of a smith by this point. Having provided part of the armor used by the Runesmith King amongst other marvels, another student was more likely to detract from such a reputation.

Geredo was lucky in this though, as the old dwarf would prove amenable to teaching him. A month of hard work trying to fashion impressive trinkets for Halvar had merited him nothing from the seasoned smith. Hardly the first to try this method of impressing the aged craftsman, it was a more unremarkable effort that shone brightly.

Instead it was the care and respect that Geredo had paid his tools. Almost reverentially cleaning them had ignited the spark in Halvar that drew him to accept a final apprentice.

This bronze amulet and necklace, which to this day hung around Geredo's neck, had been a gift when Geredo had started his education under Halvar. Though over a century stood between him and that day, it remained with shocking clarity. Even the smell of Halvar had stuck with him through the years.

This journey he had undertaken had a certain sentimental value to the old smith. It was from Halvar that Geredo had felt confident in his ability to reach this city and inspired the hope that it may contain the secret to solving his task.

His last master had been born and become a smith in Feo Teiwaz. The weapons of the kingdom had been forged there for generations as it was viewed as the safest place within these mountains. A city of fire and warmth his master Halvar had fondly remembered.

Dragons changed that.

His master had spoken of ice that had covered everything. How the forge had shrieked under the change of temperature and pressure. How most of the people had been frozen into statues when he and a dozen smiths had managed to escape from the forge after the dragons destroyed the city and they had finally been willing to part from where they had been hiding in.

Halvar had been amongst the youngest of the few that managed to escape, and it was from him that Geredo had inherited many of the items that were now in his possession. These gifts had seen Geredo this far. Now they were returning home after many decades away.

None of the survivors had known exactly how the dragons had managed to breach the mountain that protected the city. But there were guesses amongst various facts and testimonies. A large portion of the roof of the great cavern had crashed suddenly which marked the start of the battle in the city.

Years of mining and the immense strength of the dragons were the most common answers, but this didn't stop others from questioning. Out of respect for Halvar, Geredo had never pressed him on what he thought of this. Geredo, in fact, had managed to restrain himself from asking a single question about that day to Halvar.

It was quickly obvious to the younger dwarf that it wasn't Halvar's way to speak so easily on anything. Something this important could only be dug out of him by Halvar's own choice. And it was from these whispered testimonials and the journals that had been bequeathed to him that Geredo had determined his destination.

Feo Teiwaz had boasted the most famous of the forges in the Dwarven Kingdom. The city itself was considered unassailable as an attacking army would either have to fight through the old capital or Feo Berkana to reach it through the underground tunnels. It also boasted no known paths to the surface larger than two dwarves across.

Access was severely restricted amongst non-dwarves and had inspired a few popular tales among the human traders that came to do business with the dwarves. A fortress city that had been built in harmony with the strengths that the mountain they said. A marvel of dwarven engineering and might. Feo Teiwaz had even been briefly considered to be the new capital after the abandonment of Feo Berkana two centuries prior. Something that a good portion of dwarves could boast to have occurred within their lives.

Precautions like this had proven useless against the might of the Frost Dragons. Of the buildings which had withstood the battle, they were methodically looted for their valuables. An insatiable hunger had driven the rest of the city to total ruin.

However, even the noose of a dragon has limits when it comes to finding treasure. There existed a lower forge that was built above a lava vein. From this great heat it powered the rest of the forge and served as the ground for the most important projects. A dozen dwarves, one being Halvar, had stayed hidden here below the city.

Weathering the storm that raged above they could hear the brutal razing of the city. So intense was the frozen breath that had been directed on the main forge that even protected here some lost fingers to frostbite.

Halvar would not be able to escape with his comrades for three days. The fear of those dragons made them shake even as they had managed to abandon the city and were beginning the slow trek to Feo Jara. Three of their number had remained to look for survivor. Halvar's voice always broke when he spoke of those brave dwarves. They included the senior ranking smith who entrusted many of the specialized equipment that was still used to this day.

None of them would be seen again, though their memory would last in the score of people that they had managed to save.

Many oaths and promises were made by those that had survived their ordeal. Some were kept, most weren't as is the custom with such things. Halvar, and his wife who had been one of the twenty, kept one oath they had made to each other. To never inflict this cruel world on another. Her death was a few years before his apprenticeship under Halvar had begun sealed this promise.

While Geredo had never seen her, he learned to recognize her presence from the times Halvar would listlessly stare into the distance when something stirred her memory in him.

Geredo imagined that he looked much the same now as he laid spread out on his makeshift bed. Memories were all that remained to him that felt pure, and safe. The past had become more solid to him then the ground he walked.

Somehow, he managed to pull himself out of the embrace of these fond memories. Preparations needed to be completed for there to be any chance of success. Or else there would be no one left to remember.

AN: First I would like to thank you for reading. And I'm sorry about leaving off right before Feo Teiwaz. Originally, I planned for this to just be a one shot, but I have since decided to break it into two parts.

I had to make a lot of different assumptions about what directions to take different aspects of the rather limited information that we have about the rest of the Dwarven Kingdom's realm outside of what Ainz personally experienced. That's part of what I liked about this writing experience though. Also, the characterization of Geredo. Please let me know how you think it came off.

Mainly this story has served as a great chance to shake off some of the rust I have on writing. Parts of this I felt were quite rambly and some grammar issues, but I felt best at this point to just let it be for now. I have enjoyed it very much and probably will work on more projects like this. Hopefully I will have the second part posted within the next two weeks.

Thank you again, and see you next time

-InkBlotches37


	2. City of Ice

Summary: Geredo had survived the trip to Feo Teiwaz. His luck holding out as he arrives at the ruined city in good health and condition. This doesn't shift the odds in favor of Geredo to succeed. His hopes too are entombed within the ice.

Despite the additional day of rest helping his aching body, it did little to change the difficulty of what would be Geredo's greatest problems. Nor was it likely that Geredo would ever be able to surmount some of the obstacles that he feared he was likely to encounter in Feo Teiwaz. Planning against these dangers was crucial however. Even though these plans would not yield an effective way to circumvent these problems, the information that came from reviewing the wisdom of Halvar's journals would serve him well in the days to come.

Of the myriad of dangers that would face Geredo in the city, four major problems existed that no contingency could ever save Geredo from them. After all there was a limit to how much Geredo could overcome on his own. Lacking either the firepower or manpower to subvert these obstacles, they loomed in the back of his mind as he plotted the course he would take through the city. Geredo had begun to refer to these immense challenges collectively as the Impossibles.

Each posed a complete and total failure to his endeavor should they come to pass. Two of which would be evident on his immediate arrival into the city. They dealt with what could be the city's current residents.

While Geredo expected that he would encounter more monsters of the like and quality that he had on the tunnels to Feo Teiwaz, the potential for beings of overwhelming strength skyrocketed regarding the city. Though not on the tier of the undead that haunted his waking thoughts, they did not have to be.

 _If only it took such a powerful being to bring us so low. Had we as dwarves had such strong heroes to rely on, this foolish self of mine would have never risen so high._ Bitter thoughts were all that could arise from the old dwarf when thinking of the fate of his people anymore.

In a world such as this, numbers did not matter, nor the strength of the conviction of a nation. Instead the dreams of a people rested among those chosen few who could transcend the barriers of their race with ease. Of the many sons and daughters born to the dwarven people since the death of the Runesmith King, none could equal even half his might.

Two of such beings were likely to inhabit the ruins. In fact, given the nature of the two monsters, they might even stand on par with that hero. A Frost Dragon or a high tier undead. Feo Teiwaz presented an attractive lair for these monsters, and only the greatest of dwarven heroes with high quality equipment could hope to deal with either of them.

It was likely the dragons had maintained some presence in the city. Despite the best efforts of some of the members of their race, dragons were highly independent creatures that chafed under almost any form of subservience. Offspring of the dragon that destroyed Feo Teiwaz might naturally consider the city a place to achieve some distance from their patriarch.

On the other hand, if the Frost Dragons had completely abandoned the city then the number of dead dwarves would generate undead until a stronger one would eventually emerge amongst their number. Almost two centuries were plenty of time for something as powerful a Death Knight could form with that many dead if left undisturbed.

 _At least the presence of one of these great monsters would pretty much exclude the possibility of the other. Granted that just means that I won't have to be worried about being frozen to death_ AND _turned into a zombie._

Restarting the lower forge would draw the attention of any beings remaining in Feo Teiwaz as the noise caused by this would pierce the cavern. Such a noise would be distinct and loud enough that it could be heard all the way to his current camp.

Geredo felt, however, that what he was going to be doing now was closer in nature to a series of gambles then a suicide march. A gambler that had carefully kept track of the cards in the deck before going all in was his position now.

Though the Frost Dragons had for millennium been the most powerful beings to roam these mountains, that was no longer the case. Perhaps it was vanity on the part of the dwarf believing that even great dragons could be humbled in the way Geredo had been. The barely repressed malevolence of the skeletal figure was unlike anything the dwarf had ever experienced. To imagine such a powerful undead losing was unthinkable in his mind. And though he had grown to distrust his own thinking, something inside him would not be shaken from this idea.

This intuition formed the basis of his plan for Feo Teiwaz. Geredo would bet his life on that the dragons had not completely abandoned the ruin. Thus, preventing the forming of a higher tier undead. And that once the Sorcerer King began his siege of the old capital that the dragon would then be forced to return to Feo Barkana.

 _It grates me to rely on the strength of the Sorcerer King. That being said, I don't think there will be another way for me to use the forge._

While Geredo did not doubt his ability to avoid these beings while traversing through the city to the forge, he was also not foolish enough to believe that he could hold out long even in the reinforced bunker that was the lower forge.

A day or two at most would pass before he'd be overwhelmed under the onslaught of such beings. Even a dozen skeletons or zombies could kill Geredo if they managed to corner him in the open though.

 _I can use a mace well enough, but I lack the true skill of a warrior._ Geredo had mostly relied on avoidance to deal with monsters even though he possessed a strong hammer. _A few hits would be all it would take to put me out for good._

Additionally, there was no guarantee of the condition of the lower forge itself. Halvar had detailed the amount of damage that had been caused to the upper forge before he had fled the city in his journals. Foreboding words about the sounds of shrieking metal and collapsing roofs seemed to beg him to reconsider.

Danger was guaranteed here too though.

Eventually his smell or noise would draw in the creatures lurking in the dark. Perhaps Geredo could hold out for a month in relative comfort before the inevitable.

Sweet voices also called to him in the silence. An ache was growing in him to follow them, to let himself become lost in those voices. Geredo's willpower to stop himself was slipping constantly. Giving up on this quest would completely shatter it.

With that conviction, the forgemaster forced himself to go forward once more.

...

It would take one more full day of walking finally before Geredo would finally set eyes on the entrance to Feo Teiwaz. The sight drove him to his knees as tears freely flowed. Geredo was perhaps the first dwarf since the first years after the disaster that befell it to witness the city again.

Geredo had arrived at one of the smaller eastern entrances to Feo Teiwaz. From here he would follow in Halvar's footsteps back to the great forge that had been pressed against the western edge of the cavern.

Many hours on this trip had passed with the elderly dwarf trying to picture what would await him at this point. These thoughts were meant to brace him for what he found. Trying to shore up the fragile remains of his mind against the horrors that could await. Geredo's response surpassed his own expectations.

 _This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen._ And this thought began with a single all-encompassing feature of Feo Teiwaz.

Ice.

Ice covered everything he could see. Radiating out of violent epicenters or delicately stretching over streets. The grace of thousands of sculptures had weaved together intricate patterns that bound the city into a glittering jewel under a source of natural light that lit the cavern. Violence turned into elegance.

Even the tears he had just shed were beginning to freeze to his skin. Shivering had long since overtaken the dwarf's body. Geredo couldn't bring himself to care though. Minutes passed yet the dwarf couldn't' bring himself to do anything but marvel at the white, gleaming city.

Cold had already numbed his legs by the time Geredo had caught his mistake. With tremendous effort Geredo peeled himself back off the ground and took his first hesitant steps into Feo Teiwaz.

 _I... I am glad to have made this trip just to see this._ Part of the dwarf remained deeply repulsed by this thought though he couldn't find it in himself to reject it.

Part of the Geredo's hypothesis was quickly confirmed. There existed ice caused by Frost Dragon's at different times. As the older frozen breaths had long since lost the sharpness that marked the newer additions. The older attacks were far more numerous, and in different stages of decay.

It was also in these older ones that he ugly truth of this city that was covered by the outer layer of the ice was soon visible to the dwarf.

Fully intact corpses deeply buried in stared back at the dwarf from these ancient attacks. Perfectly untouched by time, the expressions of fear and panic had been untouched by the centuries. They kept a silent vigil over the remains of their city. Eyes seeming to track the new arrival in horrified curiosity. A plea to leave before Geredo would join them too.

Geredo kept picking his way cautiously through the frozen streets nonetheless. Keeping his footing was proving to be a great challenge but he was making good progress. Better than Geredo thought he would even.

Lack of opposition played a good part in this. Every plan that Geredo had considered expected that there would be at least some lower tier undead that had been ignored by the powers that be roaming the city. Ice had taken care of them for the most part as well though.

Occasionally, he would see some undead trying to break out of their icy prison. Untiringly hacking away at their bonds. The ice held strong however. Some had evidently managed to escape over the years as Geredo would see limbs stuck in the ice, violently torn away in this struggle.

By the time Geredo had made it through the outlying district, the sight of an opening in the roof of the cavern was visible and that of a great dome of ice where the mayoral palace had used to be according to Halvar's maps.

 _I should have guessed as much. The pride of a dragon wouldn't allow for anything less._

A debate raged within the dwarf as to whether he should make a detour to avoid coming close to what was clearly the home of a dragon, or to make a beeline for it to check if the dragon was home.

 _Do I want to see if the forge is intact first, or if I'll get murdered the second I activate the forge._

Each side of the argument had its merits. But Geredo decided on the less risky option of avoiding the palace of ice.

 _If I can I_ will _activate the forge no matter the consequences. No reason to die before I know if I had a chance to begin with._

Bold statements like this felt out of place on the character of the dwarf from before this journey. Geredo had been willing to allow himself to fade along with his nation. Now he was liberated from the sense of dread that had filled every fiber of his being for the journey to Feo Teiwaz.

Geredo had done more than even his addled mind had thought possible and was at peace with his fate should Geredo join the thousands already resting here. Fear can't exist in a truly dead man, and Geredo had become close enough to that by entering this city.

Three hours of picking through the ice later let him finally stand before the main part of what was once the greatest forge in the Dwarven Kingdom. Most of its roof had collapsed, with the ice curling down the gap.

The doors were obviously firmly secured by the ice, but Geredo didn't feel too bad about trying it. Nor spending the time to check to see if there was a quicker solution to entering the building.

 _My lucks held out this long, why not take another longshot?_

Two hours later of hacking at a window covered in ice later made him regret ever being so optimistic about a quick entrance. The noise caused by this made Geredo firmly believe though that he was the only living being currently in the city. Each crunch under his hammer echoed against the ice, and was loud enough to be heard across half the city.

Hoisting himself through the jagged hole that he had slowly beat into the ice and old glass, Geredo fell hard onto the floor of the forge. His body protesting, Geredo moaned as he slowly pulled himself back to his feet.

A vision of what the forge most have looked like in its prime briefly overlapped the existing residue.

Beautiful in the precision of the perfect usage of every degree of space. A type of allure that existed in the clarity of function and purpose that gave a building like this incredible strength of presence even to the feeble-minded people that would walk its halls. Orderly rows of anvils gave way to smaller forges and bellows that allowed for a seamless transition for the more mundane crafts formed here.

Specialized crafts like those that would complete more complicated orders were sorted into three great sections around what must have been the central forge of great building. So perfectly maintained that Geredo could briefly feel the heat.

In a blink the vision was gone. Shattered to the ground until it rested back in the coat of ice that had intruded upon this place. A deep sadness settled on the dwarf as well. The old dwarf might have once expected tears at such a thing. But dead men do not also cry, and Geredo was still close enough to that.

Claw marks made it obvious where the dragons had attempted to loot the large forge over the years. Many of the raw materials had been pillaged as well as some pieces of equipment here and there, but the large building had held up over the years. Its strong foundations held firm in spite of the years of neglect.

Exhausted, Geredo stumbled across the forge. Carefully avoiding bumps on the floor where metal had caused the ice to bulge up. Fumbling across the room until he reached what could only have been the office of the forgemaster which was a door off a flight of stairs. Dwarven interior design had changed surprisingly little in the interceding years.

Through the window which peered out onto the floor below had been shattered the familiarity of the office space inspired a kindred spirit between the previous occupant of this room and Geredo. Time may have separated the two of them, but a similar spirit united them.

A decorative door in the back of the room showed another similarity between them. A small room with a bed and a hearth had been installed to avoid having the leave the forge for rest.

Draining his last health potion vial to deal with the growing sharp pain near his knee, Geredo wasted no extra time and merely collapsed on the bed. It was in surprisingly good condition all things considered, though it still groaned tremendously under his weight. Geredo was swept into a dreamless sleep with only another blink of an eye.

...

Most things have a way of catching up to a person, particularly the little lazy shortcuts that are so tempting in the moment. Such as allowing oneself to fall asleep in below freezing temperatures because Geredo is a tired, old dwarf that would have broken into a lively dance were it not for the tiredness.

Now, dwarves had a constitution more designed to survive in cool, damp caves then humans did. Compact, hairy bodies served well to insulate their own body heat. This natural resistance to cold helped to conserve body temperature past the ability of the average human.

Geredo hadn't needed to think about extra preparations for enduring the cold on entering the city. The night exacted its toll on his body for his carelessness.

Numbness blunted his sense of his body when he had originally awakened, the warning bells in Geredo's head rang into life when stretching his left leg. An audible cracking could be heard as ice broke off from the bed and his leg. Jolting him so that his chest was pried free from the bedding.

If Geredo hadn't been so exhausted, he would have noticed what exactly the designs on the door leading into this room meant. While not having ever specialized to become a rune smith, Geredo had long been a proponent of dwarven culture. Runes had once been a part of the three great professions that all dwarves had aspired to, those of miners, smiths of iron, and smiths of runes.

At different points in his life, Geredo had spent his private time learning as much as he could about the histories of these professions. Seeking to preserve the academic knowledge of his people. In fact, Geredo facilitated at sometimes most of the different projects that would use such skills. This exposure had granted him a good understanding of the basic runes, and what patterns tended to mean.

Decorative patterns on the door had actual been a complex set of runes designed to help preserve the condition of a room when door was closed. The power of the runes could not overcome the direct exposure of dragon's breath, but it was never subjected to such attack.

An expensive, though practical design feature that had been a source of great comfort to the previous holders of this room. Heat from the forge would be prevented from ruining a good nap.

By breaking this seal, and leaving the door open behind him, Geredo had invited the cold to bed with him. And the price for such company was frostbite on his ring and pinky fingers of his left hand.

In Satoru Suzuki's world, it would be referred to as grade three frostbite. The appendages were not in any immediate danger, even though they were currently frozen. If Geredo had the time and some medical assistance he could expect to make almost full recovery.

But time wasn't something Geredo was comfortable idly wasting while waiting for his non-dominant hand to obey his will fully again. Some of the busy work that would no doubt be required to start the monumental task of using this forge could be accomplished under these conditions.

Complicated tasks, or most of those facing him, would require his undivided attention. Less the repairs Geredo would need to make cause irreparable damage the forge. Keeping track of the exposure on his fingers would ruin this complete concentration.

Quickly, Geredo closed the door to reactivate the room's runes. While they would do nothing to increase the temperature in the room, it would at least help to conserve heat while he weighed the merits of the choices left to him.

His left hand was raised so that his palm faced him. The ugly blue, black frozen fingers seemed so surreal to the dwarf. Never had his hands failed him in any regard. That they were beginning to wear down too snapped a part in him he never realized he had.

Caressing them with his other hand, before hesitantly withdrawing his right hand to bring out a knife. Unsheathing it, Geredo brought it closer to his outstretched hand. The knife barely kissed below the freeze on his finger before Geredo flung it across the room from him with a shout.

 _I... I should do some checking around first. Get the hearth going to while I'm at it._

Once the fire was started, Geredo hurried out of the room before slamming the door shut behind him and breathing deeply.

The beauty of this place in his mind had faded. The ruins simply told the truth of what they were, not what they had been. Worry dominated his thoughts now, the remaining two Impossibles loomed large in his mind. Should either of them have come to pass then none of this progress would have meant anything. The lower forge had to be intact for his plan to succeed. The last Impossibles dealt with scenarios where a disaster had compromised the integrity of the forge.

Those being had lava welled up from the Earth to encompass the lower forge in its embrace. Or had the ceiling collapsed under the tremendous strain that the decades had worn onto it with no maintenance.

It didn't take Geredo long to find the entrance to the lower forge. The metal of the door had also proven more resistant to the chill then most of the scrap that littered the floor. Cracking and creaking that were made by opening the door echoed down the spiral staircase that lead down into the dark.

Soft light of the heatstone was Geredo's shield as he began his descent. Without that light, the dwarf's nerve would have never held out till the bottom which opened for a solitary door. It had been left open by the survivors that had made this bunker a camp.

For it was a bunker. No room for elegance or design. Each item was built to endure punishment from beings on the level of those that had ravaged this city. The designs were very familiar to Geredo. For some reason this made the sadness within him rise.

 _We have not come far from this room have we?_

Ice had found a way into this secure room too. Pipes that had helped feed the upper forge's fire had created a path for them to crawl down here. It was very thin however, as not much moisture had existed down here, and it was only able to slowly spread. This didn't change the fact that Geredo's fears of the remaining two Impossibles did not come to pass. Lava had not swallowed the room, burying its secrets. Nor had there been significant debris that prevented Geredo from accessing the tools within.

Most of the room was spared, even some of what the dwarves over a century prior had huddled in for warmth remained. The design of the room was roughly corresponding to the upper forge. A central place that served as a place for either smelting or to heat metals that broke off into sections that specialized into equipment useful for broad categories. Those being for armor, bludgeoning weapons, and slashing weapons.

An open area existed in front of the room to stop it from being too clustered and allow for quick evacuations of the space. Were it not for the ice, the lower forge would have looked pristine. Maybe requiring a dusting, but nothing like an abandoned relic that Geredo had feared. Craftsmanship as sturdy and functional as the materials that had gone into constructing such a place.

These objects were not what he was focused on finding something particular now. Halvar's journals made mention of a sounding device that was used to test the flows of lava before the forge could be triggered. This tested the presence and pressure of the lava. The hope had been that it would be used to help avoid flairs or the pressure being too great for the forge to be able to carry out its function.

Perhaps because of this importance it was the sole item that was situated in the otherwise empty entrance. There was no ice on it, and it had a long pipe that stretched from the roof to the ceiling of the room. A glass window showed a gray metal that was marked off. Heat radiated from it, but not in such a manner as to influence more than a little distance away. This guarantees the continuing presence of the lava vein below, the fuel of the great forge.

A chain and latch held closed the seal that would activate the depth checker. A few great pulls to shake off the lingering rigidness of the metal. The centerpiece of this rather brilliant contraption was a heat sensitive stone that would change colors. By inserting a long stick of this metal into the ground slowly, it would allow for the user to determine how far away the vein was. To activate the forge, the depth had to be within 20 feet (600 cm.) and 30 feet (915 cm.) for it to be safe to enter the intake valve.

There were more useful acts that Geredo could have taken then to slowly watch the numbers carved into the metal disappear. An age or a second could have passed before a brilliant shade of orange shot up through the lifeless rod. Illuminating a number with its vigor.

23 feet.

Hope was still alive. The feelings of relief were squashed in the dwarf as Geredo realized what he would have to do next. His left hand was shaking uncontrollably as he bolted out the door. Geredo couldn't give himself a spare moment to think now that he had committed to the action that was now required of him.

The stairs seemed longer but went by quicker. Pounding in his ears were punctuated by the metallic clanks of his boots. Resisting the urge to stop for a break Geredo jogged up the last flight of stairs back onto the main floor.

Carrying his momentum Geredo moved faster to avoid shaking his resolve. Geredo didn't slow down until he was safely back in that small side room. The fire remained alight, thawing the room. It danced its ancient unknowable dance, the dance which had drawn wild people out to perform all sorts of strange rituals.

It beckoned him, hypnotizing Geredo in its call. He found the knife again and offered its blade first to the fire. Something to wet its taste before the real offering was ready.

The knife was red and angry as it heated in the hearth. Geredo couldn't peal his eyes from it as he ripped up some cloth. Some for a makeshift tourniquet which he wrapped tightly on his arm. Other pieces to help cover the wound. A bit more to help fashion that cloth into place.

Grabbing the knife by the handle once he deemed it ready. He held it briefly still, still fixated on that sharp edge. Another beat and his left hand rested on the table beside the bed. Another breath and the knife was moving.

Heavy breathing was interrupted by screaming as a sizzle followed as Geredo hacked at the offending appendages. It took two more strikes because of the pain to finish the amputation. Driving the stumps against the burning metal he cauterized the wounds. Wild, animalistic screaming did not subside until Geredo couldn't scream anymore.

...

Beards had a special meaning to his people. Body hair had been very useful in keeping dirt and debris off the skin, and dwarfs' overtime had grown to respect the hair that covered their bodies. Certain knots and styles eventually became restricted by class and job. This importance is why in polite dwarven society it was impossible to tell what facial expressions they were making without one. So fused was the beard with the dwarf.

The lack of one spoke no less about the dwarf in question then the most magnificent specimens. In fact, Geredo's dissertation of the Dwarven Kingdom would place second in shocking events to the dwarves who knew him if they could see his mostly clean-shaven face. Stubble could only mean one of two things.

A child that was beginning the process of learning to be an adult, or to mark a prisoner recently released. Losing his beard had been a pragmatic choice for him. Geredo couldn't spend the time to maintain it anymore, and the gray and white long hairs had impeded his work far to much for his pride to allow him to work under such circumstances.

 _I do appreciate the irony_ , Geredo conceded while rubbing his hand across his face.

Dark thoughts flitted around his mind. Most remarks he had said when Geredo had still been a proud man of society. Each had taken their place on his personage, adorning him well in his exile.

 _Though for company to bear witness to my shame I'd even wear a dress at this point. Maybe even dance a jig for them._

Geredo could only muster a few grunts instead of his usual chuckle. But enough to hide his shame in humor to avoid tears. Again.

The dwarf was smart enough to acknowledge that the mirror itself played a great role in deepening this cut but couldn't move himself to action about it. Discarding the mirror in the remains of the study of the last occupant of this room felt like a substantial waste to Geredo. Glass was a very useful material. The only way to remove the mirror firmly lodged into the wall would be to break the glass. And broken glass wasn't exactly something he wanted to make time to deal with.

Maybe he permitted this and other slight injuries to help brighten the path which could lead to his redemption. Bearing through these trials might result in him overcoming the undead's expectations. That idea didn't sit with much conviction in the dwarf's heart however.

Such idle thoughts were eventually pushed out of his mind as he stood before the lava feeding mechanism that had powered the forge long ago. Solving this problem would have to come before any serious considerations to the rest of the project could be given. Geredo had successfully freed most of the gears from the ice and had begun to check the integrity of the different pieces of machinery.

Because of its nature, it had taken the most damage as the ice had worked its way into the room from this machine. While Geredo didn't need to fix most of the pipes leading out of the room, it would be foolish to assume anything about this great machine. Caution had to be exercised in all things, so he worked his way down. If he could repair this machine, then it was possible for him to activate the parts of the forge that he would need to have a chance to melt that metal the Sorcerer King had granted him.

Anything related to that piece of metal would have to wait until Geredo mended the lava device. Which in turn had to wait for the removal of the ice.

This process alone had taken nearly a week. Any mishits could doom the whole project and required intense focus. This focus had preserved his mind such as the ice had the equipment. And ice is not kind to works of metal like this.

Though at a glance it appears to preserve it, the uglier truth carries on its grim pace. The original freezing had destroyed many of the pipes that regulated the air and lava flow. Pressure from the weight of the ice had also slowly begun to warp some of the weaker pieces of metal.

Were it not for the fact that this had been designed and constructed using materials that would equal that of the Runesmith Kings crown jewels, it would have a more possible task for a dwarf in a better position to just recast the entire forge instead of repairing it.

As it were dozens of the delicate interlocking gears, and pipes that helped to regulate the lava that would give fiery life to first the rest of the building had to be pried away from the structure. Replacements would have to be improvised or these little pieces fixed. Failure to regulate either the lava or the air pressure would lead to an explosion of lava into the room.

With a final crack the last piece of ice released its grip, allowing him to remove it. Tossing it to the corner of the room that he had deemed did not contain any of the equipment he would need.

Wiping his brow on the back of his disfigured hand, a smile broke out on Geredo's face for what might have been the first time since he entered this dead city.

Today was the last day that Geredo expected he would need to uncover the remainder of the lava feeding mechanism. A thrill of excitement ran through Geredo's spine when he thought of what that held in store for tomorrow.

Tomorrow instead of being just an ice chipper, Geredo would be making something again. Geredo would be applying that well of knowledge that passion had etched deeper in him then his own name. Tomorrow Geredo would be a blacksmith again.

...

Geredo lived for the next week like an apprentice in his first week under a new master. Diligently completing every task with complete focus on what was usual busy work for a more experienced smith. Basic molds for chainmail rings were given the same diligence as refitting pipes.

Completing every project as though it were his last, and with unending patience. Anything less than perfection would be summarily tossed into what had been the slashing weapon section of the forge. Days of work left behind in this crazed drive for perfection carried out with a monk's composure.

A silent rite that purified both the broken machine and man. Salvation gently caressed by beaten, disfigured hands in violent swings. Preparing the way for the blood of the earth to rise so that it might create. Growing stronger until the moment that they would be called from this darkness.

Until that day finally arrived.

Something deep within him was stirring that morning. From within his bones he could feel his spirit stirring. An energy that had been lost to the years restored.

Today was the day.

It hadn't been the first time that Geredo had woken to this thought. That thought itself wasn't remarkable. The casual hope that persisted from the mundane days spent fixing and tweaking different aspects of the great machine. A hope that drove him out of bed day after day.

Some days this feeling would only persist with him as he relieved himself that morning, or when he had set off to the parts of the forge that were still useful to him.

Normally it would waver once those thoughts of doubt entered his mind. A certain trigger like the ice on the floor of the main forge glinting a certain way. He had never made it to standing in front of the cursed metal with any belief that he could succeed. But today as Geredo ate half the rations that had been set aside for today, it had only grown in strength. Even the itch of the stubble where his beard had once flowed from could not shake this belief.

Therefore, when he stood before the metal and felt nothing but resolve. A belief as solid as the metal which defied all practices of smiting that the old dwarf had learned.

Perhaps this would work, perhaps it wouldn't. The only effort he spared to such doubts was that it really didn't matter either way. After all there was no position for him to return to, no family, no apprentices seeking wisdom, nor even a simple station at a forge for him to work his craft.

 _Were I a younger man maybe I could achieve all these things again. No, that was not the spirit that gripped my soul in my youth. That brought me here today._

None of those thoughts matter now as he finished preparing his gear. This would be the final test of his as a craftsman. An impossible task given by an equally impossible undead that had saw fit to throw him down low for his hubris as a master craftsman.

If the device worked, and if the lava flowed, and if the repairs held, and if…

 _Enough._ His will radiated from that thought. Geredo was committed.

With one last adjustment to his gloves Geredo gripped firmly on the opening valve for the lava flow that powered the forge. The dwarf's addled mind saw another pair of hands joining his on the lever. A warmth that he had not felt in many years. With a smile, Geredo the Forgemaster pulled down.

Geredo's body and mind may have faded but in his soul, there were sparks.

AN: First I'd like to thank everyone that took the time to give my little story a chance. A further thanks to those that reviewed and followed. It made me a lot more comfortable writing this last part. Though I felt I didn't quite live up to the high praise some of you gave.

Originally this was supposed to be a one shot of about 5-7k words. And now here we are. I'm actually rather happy about that. My style for writing this was a get together the list of major events I wanted to touch upon and then expand from there. I added new sections of the story based then on where I felt it naturally flowed.

I left the end of Geredo rather ambiguous as I felt that was the most appropriate ending. To me the point of this journey never was its completion but how it changed him. I am sorry if you feel that I left this on a cliffhanger. I am unlikely to continue with Geredo's story further. I've been bouncing around a couple ideas though. The three main thoughts are Zesshi Zetsumei, Albedo-Demiurge rivalry, or a long term one dealing with my interpretation of multiple SBs in the New World. Let me know if you prefer one.

To wrap things up I'm considering getting a beta to further help with developing my writing. Also, I'll try to get another story out in the next month.

Thank you again

-InkBlotches37


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